“The Lord reigns, let the earth be glad; let the distant shores rejoice. Clouds and thick darkness surround him; righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.” (Psalm 97:1-2)
In the distance, across Flathead Lake, mountains tower, touching the heights, shrouded in heavy cloud, hiding the distant peaks from view.
You, God, are my God, surrounded in clouds and thick darkness— known, yet not fully knowable; hidden, yet still perceptible; available, yet mysterious.
Open my eyes to see You today. Open my ears to hear You today. Open my mind to know You today. Open my heart to receive You today.
Enlarge my soul in the vastness of Your presence and relieve me from striving that I might truly rest in You. You, God, are my God, surrounding me in the cloud of Your presence, lighting up my darkness in the brilliance of You.
“O LORD my God, I cried unto you, and you have made me whole.” (Psalm 30:2)
Early in the morning I draw near to You to pray, to worship, to be still.
Like the disciples who gathered after Your resurrection to meet with You again in Galilee, I bow in worship for You are my Lord and my God, yet I also hesitate because of myself. I bring my real self—imperfect and broken, sinful and self-focused—to You. Heal me, help me, forgive me, deliver me, and make me whole in You.
Set me free on the pathway of this day and walk with me as You show me the road to take. All my life is Yours for You are worthy of it. All my minutes are Yours for You reign over them all.
You, God, are my God, my Savior, my King, my Healer, my Deliverer, and the Lover of my soul. In the stillness of this early hour I marvel at You— Your majestic power and Your tender love, Your steadfast righteousness and Your pervasive justice, Your unflinching faithfulness and humble holiness.
You, God, are my God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit— and I worship You with my restored life today.
Join us today at noon for a 30-minute prayer service in person in the Eastbrook Church worship hall to call out to God on behalf of our nation at many different levels.
For the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. (Habakkuk 2:14)
If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land. (2 Chronicles 7:14)
“And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years….When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, because she thought, ‘If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed.’” (Mark 5:25, 27, 28)
The burden I carry is quiet and hidden, only seen in my most vulnerable times. But it is always with me. It gnaws at my dignity and my sense of self in ways I cannot fully describe or measure. Oh, just to be free. Just to be whole. Without my lifeblood constantly draining out. O God, how long I have cried to You for deliverance and healing. I am waiting and watching for You, like a watchman waits for the morning: bone-tired and ready for rest. The conversations and activities around seem necessary but not deep enough, not true enough, not life-giving enough. I try to see through it all to You. Then a glimpse through the crowd, as a spark of sunlight glimmers. I see You and my attention trails off from all else as I chase after You. Do You see me? I pass through the crowd and stretch out a trembling hand in order to touch You. Do You notice? A jolt, like electricity, and I know something has happened. I know You know.
“The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.” (Isaiah 58:11)
seeking You like a suffocating man seeks oxygen pursuing You like a gold-digger on their last heart-flung dig watching for You like a red-tailed hawk perched still and attentive for prey listening for You like a child trapped in a cave listens for a long-awaited rescue hungry for You like a famine-stricken family nomadically searches for food thirsty for You like hard, drought-parched fields ache for rain waiting for You like the unemployed waits for word of a yearned-for job offer open to You like a cold, silent lock yields to the key that turns the tumblers “our hearts are restless until they rest in You”